Solace
by Hyenaraptor
Summary: <html><head></head>Maya discovers that not even hulking, bloodthirsty psychos are impervious to nightmares. Slight Krieg/Maya.</html>


Maya had always been what one would call a "heavy sleeper". It wasn't something she liked about herself, or even cared to admit – she preferred to think she was the kind of person that'd be up and about bright and early, ready to roll out of bed and right into whatever bloody business the day had in store for her and her teammates. But alas, being a Siren had its downsides as well as its perks; using her powers tended to sap quite a bit of her energy and, coupled with near-daily occurrences of putting them to work blowing apart bandit skulls, she slept, as Gaige would put it (whenever she had to come nudge her awake so she wouldn't sleep the whole damn day away), "like a fat, lazy skag". Needless to say, it was frequently jested that Handsome Jack himself could lead a Hyperion marching band through the streets of Sanctuary and Maya would snooze right through it.

Which is why she was surprised to actually be woken up in the middle of the night by the quiet shuffling sounds of somebody pacing around her room.

She froze, resisting the urge to illuminate the darkness with a glow from her tattoos. Instead she lifted her head ever so slightly, listening to the weighty footsteps that seemed to be tracing a path back and forth around the side of the bed behind her. They did little to mask the rasp of their owner's heavy, animalistic breathing, the kind of breathing you'd probably think of when you think of a serial killer, the kind of breathing that'd make anybody else in this situation fill their bedsheets with piss.

But, funnily enough, Maya relaxed, if only just a little. She'd spent enough time listening to that serial killer breathing that she'd recognize it anywhere.

"…Krieg?"

Both the breathing and the footsteps suddenly ceased, leaving an awkward silence to hang heavily in the air between them. After a few moments passed with no response she began to wonder if she was mistaken and _should_ in fact be alarmed, until:

"…MmmmMMMMmmmm…"

She tensed, fully expecting a furious bellow about meat or murder, as Krieg was prone to loudly rambling about at completely random (and usually inappropriate) moments. She only hoped he'd keep it down enough to avoid waking everybody in the building and then some…

"…Maya?"

That single word, so typically unassuming, was enough to cause her stomach to perform what could only be described as a backflip. Everybody knew that Krieg had a… _tenuous_ grasp on conventional social skills, at best. Things didn't stick well with him. For example, he usually referred to her with such colorful monikers as "blue girl", "pretty lady", or "meat maiden".

This was the first time, in all the many weeks it'd been since meeting him – on all the missions they'd tackled together – that he'd called her by her real name.

She sat up and turned to find Krieg's face just inches from her own, little more than a rough silhouette in the dark. She jumped at least a foot backwards, nearly falling off the edge of the bed. Well, that was one way to eliminate grogginess. "Holy _shit_, Krieg, don't do that-!"

"M-Maya…" he repeated, laying his large palms flat on the mattress. Now that her eyes had adjusted, she noticed with a start that his mask was off; Krieg did _not_ like removing his mask. He was incredibly stubborn about showing his face to anybody, even the other Vault Hunters – except her. And even she had seen it only a handful of times (having to practically pry it off of him to bathe and even to go to sleep, what with his tendency to simply pass out covered in filth and fully clothed). But here he was, making no effort to conceal the burn scars that disfigured the right half of his face and left a deformed hole where the eye should be. His remaining eye was fixed on her, contorted in a pained, unmistakable way that spoke of an emotion Maya had up until now thought the psycho incapable of feeling: _fear_.

Her own eyes widened, and when she spoke the concern in her voice was genuine. "Krieg? Did something happen? What's wrong…?"

His lips twitched, face twisting into a troubled mask of utmost concentration. It took a minute of several false starts for him to begin forcing actual words out. "Pretty lady…" he growled. "The inky blackness has infiltrated my skull space! I saw the flashing face-pictures stamped into my brain meat and I smelled _my_ blood and the agony but when I tried to bite their livers they were! Not! _There_!" As these jumbled phrases came tumbling out of him his voice rose steadily until it reached a near hysterical pitch, the quivering in the last few syllables making it sound like he was ludicrously close to… tears?

"Shhhh, shhhh! It's okay! Calm down…!" The _last_ thing she needed right now was him yelling and drawing the attention of several ill-rested and grouchy Vault Hunters, which certainly wouldn't help diffuse the situation. As she'd grown used to doing with him Maya quickly started wracking her brain, trying to unravel Krieg's confusing brand of speech into something easier for her to understand. Flashing face-pictures? That suddenly weren't there? What could he be trying to say? Two minutes of intense quiet followed, punctuated only by Krieg's labored breathing, until she was able to dredge up the only explanation that made any real sense based on his backwards retelling.

"…Krieg, did you have a nightmare?"

He didn't directly respond, but, then again, he seldom did. "I could _see_ the bright lights all over again!" he groaned. "Icy fire in my veins from the needle-stabbers and purple poisons! They spat burning in my eyes and laughed but I couldn't reach out to SNAP THEIR NECKS!" Without warning he rounded on himself, repeatedly striking the side of his head with a massive fist. "No! NO! SHUT UP! SHUT UP, SHUT UP, _SHUT UP_!"

"Whoa, WHOA! HEY! _STOP_!" Maya dove forward and seized his wrist; trying to pull his hand away from his head was like trying to drag an adult bullymong corpse single-handedly. Her fingers brushed against his cheek, and she found herself taken aback by the sensation of wetness against her skin. Holy shit. Krieg – the vicious, bloodthirsty, unshakable Krieg – was _crying_. "Don't… don't hurt yourself, okay? Just… here. Sit down and relax…"

To her mild surprise he obeyed with little resistance, the bedframe creaking in protest against his hefty bulk. She could feel the mattress itself vibrating from his uncontrollable trembling, every wheezing gulp of air he inhaled tugging a little more on her heartstrings. There was just… _something_ about seeing him, an unabashed killing machine, in a such a state of raw vulnerability that it made her uncomfortable in a way she couldn't adequately describe.

Slowly, cautiously, she reached out to rest a hand on his thick shoulder. She'd never thought of herself as being particularly gifted in the ways of comforting others (she'd always had the tendency to remain emotionally distant that way), but she just wanted to let him know that she was there, that everything was going to be okay. Several minutes passed before she finally felt the shaking in his body lessen enough to be describable as "calm".

Though she wasn't totally certain it was a good idea, she tried to think of a way to best approach the subject, get him to open up a little more to her without triggering another panicked outburst. "…What did you see, Krieg? You can tell me, it's okay. None of it was real. You're safe here."

Krieg had to turn around completely to look at her with his good eye; his jaw was tight, furiously trying to hide the true level of distress he was in, but with little success. "…Everything was white and aching and hurt." he finally croaked. "I felt the fire-knives stabbing my flesh and the purple glow pouring in to taint my insides! Cold metal suckling on my spine and I couldn't make it stop! The faceless ghosts, they stood above me and _they_'_re_ the ones who sculpted my meat castle and screamed for the monster!" He raised two shaking hands to a damaged face, staring at them with the haunted, hollow gaze of a man who saw nothing but the contents of his own tormented mind mirrored back at him.

Maya could only watch, worry and pity for her companion pressing down on her like a physical weight. This was completely unlike Krieg's usual violent, gory tirades, in which he was always the aggressor, the undisputed destroyer of all who dared oppose him. No… this was much different. There was something that felt deeply personal, _visceral_ about the things he poured out to her now – like he'd let slip something about himself that few people knew and even fewer would ever find out. And as she'd listened to it all, the subtleties of his word choices had begun to paint a picture of something that, to her, sounded horrifically medical.

Or _experimental_.

"…Is that it…?" she asked softly. "You had a nightmare about the ones who made you this way…?"

Krieg's breathing hitched, his giant frame trembling anew with barely-restrained panic. A pitiful animal whine tore itself from his chest, hands flying upward to clutch at his skull like he was ready to tear it apart to force the demons out. "No! NO! NONONONONO!" he wailed. "They want to take me back to the killing light! I don't want to go back!" His ragged fingernails dug into his scalp, deep enough to draw blood, much to her horror. "I WON'T GO BACK! NEVER! NONONONO_NOOOO_-!"

"Krieg!" She grabbed his hands, hands she'd seen rip men limb from limb, and pulled them away from his head, towards her chest, gripping them gently but with an underlying firmness that assured she meant business. Krieg wheezed, spluttered, gaped at her with an expression that reminded her so much of a frightened child that she could swear she felt her heart break right then and there. What could these "faceless ghosts" have done that was so unspeakable, so painfully inhumane that even Krieg, arguably one of the most fearless and terrifying men to ever set foot on Pandora, cowered like a beaten dog after merely revisiting it in his dreams?

She wasn't sure she wanted to find out.

Maya rubbed her thumbs against his calloused palms, silver eyes never once leaving his. "They won't take you back." she whispered. "I won't let them take you back, ever. I promise."

Krieg tightened his fingers around hers, and the way he looked at her then, with such desperation, such adoration – such blind, wholehearted _trust _– for some reason drove the spike ever deeper into her heart. She knew he skulked on the fringes of their little makeshift society, noticed the way people crossed the street when they saw him coming, like he was some sort of walking landmine. Though he _was_ "officially" part of the team, it wasn't like anybody had bothered to conceal their distrust of the unusual psycho; she saw it every day, in all the suspicious glances, the cautious hands coming to rest on holstered weapons at every macabre outcry he couldn't help. As far as she knew Maya was the only one to ever view him as a human being and not an animal, make him feel as though he had a place to call home, a friend he could rely on to not push him away. And he was repaying her with unconditional love and loyalty he displayed without shame… all for something as simple as extending basic human kindness.

"The blue angel baptizes the monster with sweet meats and pretty words…" he whispered hoarsely. "She empties his skull and fills it up with her wholesome goodness instead. Just like the Little Man promised…"

This wasn't the first time Krieg had alluded to some sort of "Little Man", and Maya had yet to figure out just what that was and what it had to do with his condition. But it piqued something to occur to her then, something that to anybody who didn't know better would seem insignificant but in Krieg's case was remarkable. When he'd awakened from his nightmare – most certainly disoriented, angry, _afraid_ – she might've expected him to grab his buzz-axe and rampage, completely convinced that his attackers were very much alive and real. But he _hadn_'_t_; instead, he had actively sought her out, attempted to articulate his troubles to her, just like any normal person, however childish it may feel to them, might do.

Was it a sign? She didn't know.

But if it was, it could only be a good one.

She smiled at him. "You're no monster, Krieg."

No sooner had the words left her lips than a pair of muscular arms snaked themselves around her torso with uncharacteristic gentleness, and Maya suddenly found herself the living pillow of a very large and very exhausted psycho. Krieg had his cheek resting on her chest, right over her heart, his body snuggled across hers like the world's beefiest human blanket.

Her eyebrows practically disappeared into her hairline. She squirmed to get comfortable in his vicelike embrace, managing to free her arms and drape them across his ample shoulders. There was no lecherous motive behind the contact; she knew Krieg wasn't like that. He simply craved the innocent comfort of her touch. Though, this was the first time it'd ever been… quite this _intimate_. She hoped he couldn't feel the heat of her blush (and silently counted her blessings he'd decided to keep his boxers on tonight).

"The pretty lady's blood pump sings such a sweet river song inside her chest cavity…" he cooed. "Beautiful. So beautiful…"

That one was surprisingly straightforward enough that she didn't have to puzzle over it long. "You like my heartbeat…?"

He responded by tightening his grip on her, a long, contented sigh passing through his scarred lips. She relaxed into his arms, absently rubbing his back and listening as his breaths gradually slowed into that rhythmic lull that denoted slumber (and then, unfortunately, into snoring).

She wasn't one to admit it aloud, but the guy was a damn good cuddler. The warmth of a well-muscled figure pressing up against her own was _infinitely_ more satisfying than any ratty old blanket she'd dug up around here, and it wasn't long before she was fighting to keep her eyes open despite the human foghorn droning away on her chest. She felt ridiculous... but she'd be a dirty liar if she claimed she wasn't enjoying this, nighttime terrors aside.

Was sharing her bed with a murderous (but… nonetheless sweet) madman and his hair-trigger temper really something she was willing to let turn into a nightly occurrence? Probably not…

But if he came knocking, she doubted she'd be able to say no.

_Goodnight, you big lug._ she thought to herself, and almost on impulse placed a soft kiss on the top of his head. _Sweet- well, sweet_er _dreams._

_And God do I hope Gaige doesn't come in here tomorrow morning._


End file.
